A Lesson In History
by Cisselah
Summary: Sometimes Harry wished they would have put his portrait somewhere else -anywhere else- than in professor Binns classroom.


**~*A Lesson In History*~**

**written by: Cisselah**

_He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,_

_That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,_

_But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust._

_**by: Robert Frost, A Soldier**_

Sometimes Harry wished they would have put his portrait somewhere else -_anywhere else_- than in professor Binns classroom. The old ghost wasn't the best company and even though he had gained another favorite subject other then the Goblin revolutions and Giant _Boring_ Wars, Harry was still not enjoying eternity in his classroom. Actually, most of the time he preferred to avoid his portrait there, especially when _these_ kind of lessons were taught. But this time Headmaster Longbottom had insisted that he was present.

Sometimes Harry wondered if Neville enjoyed tormenting him. All these years in Binns classes desperately waiting for the hour to be up and where had that old codger decided to hang his portrait? The classroom of the one late Professor Binns.

"Good morning class" said Professor Binns in an uncharacteristic cheerful voice and hovered over towards the desk. The students snickered among themselves when he passed through the wooden desk without noticing it and stopped to stand, still half inside and half outside the old rugged piece of furniture. Professor Binns didn't notice. The ghost loved these kinds of lessons.

Harry did not.

"I have an extra special lesson for you today" the entire classroom went from drowsy to suspicious in a second. Harry felt a sting of sympathy for them. Binns never did anything _extra special_ that was remotely fun for anyone, with the possible exception of Binns himself. "Kill me" Harry heard a student in red robes mutter. Another one in blue robes hushed him wearily.

"What do you mean extra special, sir?" a Slytherin boy with icy eyes asked and Harry made himself comfortable in his red armchair. It was very hard, because the chair was very uncomfortable. It was made to be big and grand, but mostly it just looked like an overgrown chair that had spontaneously decided to dress up in red silk and stand still in front of a sunflower-yellow wall. Harry always wondered if the painter had made it that way on purpose because of the dancing pineapple incident.

Probably.

"What I mean, young Willson, is that today we are-" A few muffled laughter was heard at the sight of the Slytherin boy's sour face.

"Williamson, sir" The boy with icy eyes corrected, looking as if he felt that even talking to the teacher was beneath him.

"Excuse me?" Professor Binns asked and blinked a few times as if to wake up.

"My name is Williamson, sir"

"Of course it is, Watson. What kind of teacher would I be if I forgot it? Well, where was I? Right! Today we are talking about the Second Wizarding War"

Immediately the seventh year students looked both amazed and horrified. Second Wizarding War was better than the third Goblin Revolution, but Binns had a way of making even the most fun lesson into something utterly boring. Harry wished he would do that with _these _kind of lessons, but somehow Binns always seemed to be more alive during these lessons. Maybe this was Harry's punishment for something he had done in an earlier life, or possibly something he had done in this life. It was hard to say.

"Second Wizarding War, sir?" a Huffelpuff asked in a weary voice, already suspicious of Professor Binns sudden energetic behavior. Harry didn't blame her. During the six years he had had Professor Binns classes he had never talked about anything else then the last Giant war or possibly the next oncoming goblin revolution. The sudden change was quite disconcerting and frankly Harry would have found it interesting if not for the fact that Binns had decided to talk about the subject Harry did everything to avoid.

"Yes" Professor Binns said, looking a little annoyed now. ''Does anyone know when it started?"

Great. He was asking questions too. Harry did not feel entirely happy about this prospect.

"In 1997, 31th of July 1997" a boy with ash blond hair said smugly from the back of the classroom. Binns gave him a rare smile that looked quite strange on his face. One of the yellow cloaked students actually squeaked at the sight of it and then proceeded to drop her quill into her ink, causing it to float out all over her parchment.

"Yes, yes! Very good Mr. Gaulreen"

"Greengrass"

"Yes, yes... Lord Goldenfort took over the Ministry on that exact date. It was also Harry Potter's birthday. Quite a birthday present, I'd say"

Oh, no. Harry could see where this was going.

"But professor!" a Ravenclaw student with pigtails interrupted, waving her hand enthusiastically in the air. "Wouldn't you say that the war started 18th of June in 1996 with the Battle of the Department of Mysteries when the Ministry finally had to admit that Lord Voldemort had returned or in 1995 when Voldemort was resurrected in the cemetery of Little Hangleton"

"Excellent observation, Wartley"

"Weasley" the girl said in dismay.

"Teacher's pet" a Slytherin boy muttered. A dark haired boy in Gryffindor robes aimed a golden quill at his head.

Harry once again wondered how on earth Neville had come to the conclusion that all four houses of seventh years should share Binns classes. Probably because the ones that survived this far slept through the whole class anyway. Merlin knows that was what he would have done had he not skipped his last year. If there was anything good the Horcrux-hunt had come with, then it was this.

"Yes, my dear students, we can speculate all day about when the war started, but there is something that we cannot discuss" Harry sunk deeper down in his armchair. He was standing out quite a bit, seventeen years old and in his Gryffindor's robes in the large red armchair that looked like it was meant for a king. Oh, why had he let Ron talk him into this kind of portrait? He should have stuck with the Gryffindor common rooms. "That Harry Potter was our savior. Did you know that I used to have him in my class?" Now Binns had the whole class's attention.

Oh shit.

Maybe he should visit his portrait in the Ministry after all. It couldn't be worse than this. Nothing fun _ever_ happened in the ministry -meaning that most people were going to be too bored to even notice him- but Neville would know that he had fled the room and then he would never hear the end of it.

"Oh yes!" Professor Binns said, clearly enjoying the sudden attention. "He sat over there next to you, Mr. Gangly"

The Hufflepuff boy was so busy looking at the empty seat next to him that he didn't even bother to correct Mr. Binns. The class watched the desk with wide eyes as if it would suddenly jump up and start tap dancing. It would have been dramatic if it weren't for the fact that Harry knew that he had sat on the other side of the room every History of Magic lesson and the seat Binns had pointed out had belonged to a rather chubby girl who snored loudly every class.

Harry couldn't quite decide if he was relieved or insulted.

"Such a delightful boy, always so studious and alert" Harry didn't even bother to hide his grin. Studious? Alert? And this was the ghost who had once told them he only worked with facts and not myths or legends? Morgana's knickers, how he wished Hermione could hear him now. As if Binns had read his mind he continued; "And that Hermosa Granger, always ready to help others. Such a smart girl, that witch was. Oh, if I only had such students every day"

The Ravenclaws did look mildly insulted at that notion.

"He was always a clever boy, that Harry Potter. Found the Chamber of Secrets, did you know that? I even helped him in his quest, told him everything I knew... Oh yes... They say that he is the greatest wizard of his time, but truth is, I believe he is the greatest wizard of_ all_ time" This was quickly going from flattering to embarrassing.

Harry decided that maybe it would be best if he took a nap. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.

"How many great things did he not do? Finding the Sorcerer's Stone, slaying a Basilisk, killing Lord Rottenhord. Some say he even came back from_ the dead_." Harry could practically hear their excitement at that statement.

"What do you meant, sir? I mean, how is it possible to come back from the dead?" a girl's voice asked. Harry recognized her as the Ravenclaw girl that had identified herself to be a Weasley.

"I have no idea!" Professor Binns exclaimed excitedly. "But Harry Potter himself said that Lord Tottentot had tried kill him in the Forbidden Forrest and failed, despite the fact that Mr. Potter himself had not attempted to protect himself. He told the whole school that he had meant to die that night of the Battle of Hogwarts, and there were rumors, thought they were neither denied nor confirmed, that he actually had. The survivor of the Killing curse... Brought back from the dead to save us once more..."

Harry was sure his face was as red as Ron's hair by now. He really needed to get the hell out of here. He couldn't believe this was happening. Bloody hell, how had Binns turned so... so... well, gossipy?

"But sir, wouldn't anyone know if he had actually died?" Harry peaked out from underneath his raven hair to see the same Hufflepuff boy that apparently sat next to Harry Potter's old seat look disbelievingly at the ghost. Professor Binns clapped his hands.

"Oh yes, Mr. Gothertine. I dare say none of us ever saw it. A few Death Eaters reported that he was hit by _the killing curse_, but we can never be quite sure what they really saw. One Death Eater, a lovely woman going by the name Penalty Portson, even said that they turned him to a flobberworm and fed him to a hungry thestral. The truth of that statement remains unknown" Lovely and Death Eater was not two words that Harry associated with each other. Binns didn't seem to notice his growing discomfort "To be honest, we all thought he was dead, before he rose up and killed the Dark Lord. Yes, yes... Very troublesome the whole ordeal was. Luckily we had Mr. Potter to save us"

Harry wanted to die, but apparently it was impossible for portraits to do so.

"The days of the Dark Lord's rule came to an end with the Battle of Hogwarts. Much of the castle was ruined and many people died. It was a great day for history, a day to remember, a day to never forget" Binns continued in his vacuum cleaner voice."Much blood was spilled, many great wizards and witches died. A little more than a hundred years has passed and still we will never forget the day Harry Potter saved us all from Lord Frottiecord. There are many similarities to the Giant war in the end of the seventeenth century, not only because of the great terror that spread-..."

Harry buried his head in his hands.

"My grandmother told me that Professor Longbottom was there" a Gryffindor boy interrupted.

"Oh, yes.. Headmaster Spongcotton was a very brave man. He even pulled out the sword of..." the sound of the door opening made Professor Binns trail off and Harry lifted his head from his hands.

The man that had interrupted Professor Binns was old with skin like wrinkled parchment and short, snow-white hair. He was dressed in purple robes with blue stars lining the sleeves and a shiny yellow hat that clashed horribly with the robes and looked like it had been stomped on repeated times by a hippogriff and then shoved down the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. His eyes were kind and soft, his grayed appearance hiding a wisdom and strength that made most people want to confess every bad thing they had ever done, _now,_ and then beg on their bare knees for a second chance just for the sake of it.

He looked like the softest, cuddliest grandfather there was to find.

Harry glared at him.

"Cuthbeth, a word, please..." Neville Longbottom said and gave the class a kind smile. Most of them smiled back in shy pleasure, a few even gazed at him with a barely concealed adoration. It made Harry want to puke, then hit Neville with a stick and then puke some more. The old codger had let Binns drone on and on and on about how great Harry Potter was, but when it came to Neville Longbottom's great adventures he stepped in and dragged the old ghost out to have a long chat until Professor Binns forgot what he was supposed to talk about.

One of the students gave up a dreamy sigh, the kind that you got when your absolute hero was standing three meters in front of you with a permanent marker offering to write his signature on your forehead.

It was no secret that the Hogwarts student body had an unhealthy amount of hero-worships for the wizard and witches of the war and more noticeably so, Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Neville was their hero in the everyday life, always there and ready to help. He was a kind and respected headmaster, almost as popular as Albus Dumbledore himself. So popular that some student had taken it upon themselves to get sent to his office on purpose just to see the wizard close up.

Neville Longbottom was the rebel of the school, the leader of Dumbledore's Army that had snuck out at night and scribbled encouraging words on the walls, withstood torture and slain the snake - literally. He was their idol.

And Harry Potter... Well, Harry Potter was Harry Potter and he would be adored for all future for things that wasn't really as glamorous as they sounded.

Professor Binns made a hasty exit and drifted through the door together with the old headmaster. Just before the door slammed shut and the whispering erupted Harry could have sworn he saw a mischievous twinkle in Neville's eye. Half a second later he decided that he must have been momentarily confused by the colorful robes. It happened even to the best of all wizards. Not that Harry was one of those of course; he simply wanted to say...

"... hear that he had a thing with Hermione Granger!" a voice broke through his thoughts and with a glare worthy of Severus Snape Harry snapped his eyes towards the speaker. The ash blond boy didn't notice him and the gossip continued.

"No way! I hear he was in love with Looney Luna Lovegood, you know, the famous owner of the Quibbler" a Hufflepuff girl said enthusiastically. Harry didn't doubt that they were talking about him. Of all possible subject that could have interested the seventh years, of course the most important one had to be his love life. Which was slightly exaggerated.

"I heard he was screwing _Romilda Vane_, the author of _Teen Witches_!" this was going to far, and before Harry could stop himself he snorted at the ridiculous notion that he was even interested in as much as a hair lock of _Romilda Vane, _the author of _Teen Witches_. All eyes turned towards him were he half laid and half sat in the grand red chair of doom.

None of the students looked happy.

"And who do you think you are, you stuffy old portrait?" an angry Gryffindor girl with short, red hair.

"Oh, sorry. Don't think about me. I'm just here for the... eh... show..." Bugger! Did he really sound as pathetic as he thought he did? One look at the class told him that he did. Well, at least they don't know who I am; Harry thought and tried not to look too much like a deer caught in the headlights. That would have been worse, much worse, then this.

As if some supernatural power had heard him, one Ravenclaw's freckled face lit up in some sort of inner revelation.

"You knew Harry Potter, didn't you? I think I've seen you before. I can't figure out where though. Are you one of the portraits in the headmaster's office?" the questions welled over and Harry had the feeling he was about to stand face to face to a tornado. To escape further questioning -the whole class was watching now- he nodded and tried to look like he wasn't trying desperately to avoid the famous outcry; "Blimey, it's Harry Potter!"

As one individual the whole class leaned forward and looked at him with hungry eyes. Harry decided he'd rather have a repeat of the Acromantula incident than be here with a room full of crazy fans. Merlin only knew what they would do to him once they figured out who he really was.

"You knew Harry Potter?!" one Slytherin asked him with a hungry glint in his eyes. "What was he like?"

"Did he really kill a..."

"...stabbed a basilisk..."

"...won the Triwizarding cup and..."

"Was he pretty?" Everybody turned to the blushing Hufflepuff boy and stared. It was the same boy that sat next to _Harry Potter's_ old seat. "What?" The boy said defensively. "I'm a sucker for dragon tattoo's"

Harry couldn't help but to feel faintly horrified. Merlin's dirty underpants, Ginny would laugh at this. Not that she would ever find out... No, she would never, ever hear of this... This could easily count as one of the most awkward moments of his portrait life. There was a reason to why he had demanded few painting of him to be done while he was a teenager. This could easily count as one of them, too.

"Dude..." one of the Gryffindor's said in disgust. "The guy is, like, one hundred years or something"

"Not then, he wasn't!" the Hufflepuff said, still blushing furiously. "Back then he was the same age as us. Don't tell me you don't want to have a superhot kickass redhead with a dragon tattoo on his chest" the Gryffindor's face told Harry that he very much didn't. A Ravenclaw girl squeaked and threw the Hufflepuff boy a scandalized look.

"Redhead! No...! Harry Potter was _blond_!" Oh dear God. "Haven't you read the _Carnwick Chronicle's of a Lonely Witch_? Tania Carnwick writes that she wanted to wound her hands in his _blond_ hair, not red hair! Keep your facts straight"

Harry wasn't sure, but in the commotion that followed he was pretty sure that he could hear a grumpy voice mutter "That's not all you have to keep straight" from somewhere in the middle of the mob. He was also unsure about when he had started to think about the seventh year Hogwarts students as _a mob_. Maybe all those years in the headmasters office together with the trouble makers had rubbed off on him.

Maybe he shouldn't have insisted on so few paintings being made of him.

"Actually," he told the class before he could think about it. "I'm neither. My hair is actually _black, _not blond or red or brown, but _black" _

It took him about one second to realize what he had revealed in all his annoyance. It took the class two seconds and then, when their mouths had settled for a nice and fine 'o' shape, the shocked questions followed.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why are you so scrawny?"

"Are you really Harry Potter?"

"Where is your scar?"

"Do you like cupcakes?"

And, more importantly;

"How did it feel to kill _the_ Voldemort? Was it _cool_?"

There were many things to be said about Harry Potter, but when it all came down to it, no-one who actually knew Harry would say that he was a pessimistic guy. But there were some days that Harry Potter wished he really had died that time in the forbidden forest. There were some days that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in fetus position and cry. There were some days that Harry hated Neville Longbottom. This was one of these days.

When Professor Binns finally returned in the end of the lesson Harry slipped out of his frame smoothly and tried to ease the headache he knew was coming -never mind that portraits couldn't get headaches- while sitting in a comfortable, pink couch in the headmaster's office, waiting for the object of his irritation to come gliding through the doors.

He knew that Neville had done that on purpose. It happened every year, _every_ single year, and the record of not-getting-noticed-by-the-fans had been twenty-one minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Every year was the same and every time it happened Harry was forced to answer the most ridiculous questions ever, ranging from what his favorite color was to what he imagined Romilda Vane's panties looked like.

Harry hated these kind of lessons.

"Mopping around again, Potter? Did one of the first years forget your name?" A snarky voice asked from the portrait next to him. Harry narrowed his eyes, turned towards Snape and was just about to deliver a dry and witty answer when the door opened and Neville Longbottom stepped in.

He looked unforgivably happy, like he had just gotten the best news of his life -or ruined his friends remaining one- and with twinkling eyes he walked towards his oak desk.

The office had changed much over the years. It had gone from Professor Dumbledore's comforting eccentrics to Professor McGonagall's stiff order and then to Neville Longbottom's messy but inviting style. Papers were spread out all over the desk, ink and quills laid in heaps over each other and a neon green dressing robe was hastily dumped on the floor underneath the desk. On the wall someone had scribbled down the bold, black letters; 'JOIN DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY' in a messy handwriting.

Neville Longbottom sat down on the stuffed armchair and leaned forward, placing his elbows gently on the desk between quills and parchments.

"Did you have fun?" he asked his friend with twinkling eyes. Harry offered his opinions on this matter in a lengthy monologue in fluent profanity.

The headmaster had the nerve to smile.

**My dear friends, I apologize for the spelling and grammar and other stuff that is probably bugging you. Truth is that I have like two minutes left of my internet and I'm in such a hurry I can't bother to correct it all. If you see anything that is incorrect, message me and I'll fix it. **

**Damn it, I have to go. My internet (I have two hours every day. Damn the many siblings that want the internet all for themselves!) is about to die on me. Again. This is the second day I'm working on this little story. I got the idea while I was in Thailand and it just wouldn't leave me since.**

**I hope you like this little piece of Christmas/New Year special. Yes, yes... I know it has absolutely nothing to do with either of those things, but let's just pretend :)**

**Give me a review as a present, hey? Where's the Christmas spirit? **

**/A.C**

**P.S I love you guys for even bothering to read this! And let's bring a toast to the not-so-much-end-of-the-world! Go 2013!**

**(No, I'm not drunk. I just drank alot of coke)**


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